Watch Your Language
by FredNeverDied
Summary: Natasha and Steve are picking at each other and, for once, Steve gets the upper hand. Some friendship feels before we dive into Civil War. Not set in any particular time.
_Watch Your Language_

The laughter coming from the other room bubbled to giddy volume for a moment before settling back down into relaxed chatter. Steve glanced at the door that led to the Avengers rec room and grinned. He really liked this place when it wasn't on fire, and any time when the team was at ease, it was a welcome blessing.

Feeling content, and feeling content with feeling content, he redirected himself towards his task at hand—making lunch.

"Got enough bread for a second sandwich?" came a voice.

Steve peeked up to see the kitchen door swinging open as Natasha let herself in and perched on a stool across the counter.

"Ham or turkey?" he asked, setting out another plate.

"Turkey thanks," she replied. He was spreading mustard when she cut in: "You know, Tony has people who will do this sort of thing for you. It's the push of a button away."

"I know."

When he didn't add anything to that, Natasha snorted and pulled an apple out of a nearby fruit bowl.

"Don't ruin your appetite," he muttered. She snorted again.

The rumble of voices rose and the distinct sound of Bruce giggling made them both smile.

"What are they doing in there?" he asked. Natasha shrugged.

"Tony showed Thor how to Facetime, so they're now talking to Jane Foster." Her words were punctuated with another swell of laughter. Natasha grimaced. "Actually I think they're in the middle of explaining the 'watch your language' jokes to her."

Steve brought his hands up in defense so fast the mustard flicked off his knife and hit her cheek.

" _Rogers_ ," she complained, swiping it off.

"That was one time," he replied, ignoring the mustard altogether. "Can you not let it go?"

"It was _not_ just one time," she said. "And no, they won't."

He pursed his lips and returned to the plates before him. There was silence in the kitchen again, other than the occasional laugh coming through the walls and Natasha crunching her apple.

"You know, people…people do talk…very differently now," he said after a moment. "It's not just the swearing, but it's one of those little things I can't quite get over: just how people talk." There was something mournful to his voice and Natasha automatically feared that he might launch into another of his rare but pain-filled nostalgia trips—something she had no desire or skillset to talk him through. But he was her friend, and there were other kinds of bravery to develop. She gathered her courage and followed along after him.

"Like how?" she asked. Steve grinned, more to himself than anything.

"Well, just like that," he said. "Seventy-five years ago, you would have said 'How so?' not 'Like how?'"

Oh was _that_ all? She shook her head and snatched a now-finished sandwich off his plate. "God, Rogers," she muttered. "I get where you're coming from, but you don't need to be _that_ big of a grammar Na—"

She broke off immediately and stuffed a bite of sandwich into her mouth, suddenly hoping against hope that he hadn't heard enough to figure out her meaning.

His eyes were smooshed up in that painfully obvious confused face of his, but after a second they smoothed out in comprehension, then widened with surprise, then glowed with—oh God, he found this _hilarious_ didn't he?

"Natasha," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

She stuffed another bite of sandwich in her mouth, fully aware that years of intelligence training under interrogation were proving useless right now, and hating herself for it.

"Natasha that sentence wasn't about to end a certain way, was it?"

"Dunno wha oo meam," she said loudly.

"Because you weren't," and now he was advancing on her around the end of the counter, "You were not about to call me, of all people, in all of space and time, _a grammar Nazi_."

She pressed her lips into a line because, really, what was there to be said?

Steve's eyes were shining with delight and his voice had a wicked sort of mischief to it.

"Well," he said. "I think I know what will make them drop the 'watch your language' story."

And before she could stop him or yell at him or roundhouse kick him to the floor, he had slipped off through the door and into the main room.

It was quiet for a moment then and she could only hear the annoying hum of the refrigerator, and then the crowd burst out laughing; she could definitely hear Bruce's giggle.

 _Fine_ , she thought, slinking off the kitchen stool. She picked up Steve's sandwich and, while she was at it, the whole sack of bread. She would take her dignity and just hide somewhere around headquarters for the afternoon ….


End file.
